The palm of my hand was cut open, and blood would not stop flowing.

Mom’s voice, thick with anger, rang in my ears. “Kara, I knew it. You’ve always been cruel at heart!”

Mom still would not listen to a word I said. In her eyes, everything I did was wrong. It was just like how she was convinced I was constantly bullying Wendy, that poor, fragile girl.

However, even if I wanted to explain everything, to talk to her properly about all the years of pain and injustice, there was no way I could do it anymore.

I was already dead, killed by Wendy. Pain surged through me, and it felt as though my soul itself was being torn apart.

No matter how much Mom scolded me, I would not be able to answer her. I would no longer be able to quietly leave her gifts to try to fix our broken relationship. All I could do now was lie in the cold morgue, hoping that she would recognize my body and seek justice for me.

…

Just as Mom was about to open the fridge to cook, Officer Zane’s call pulled her back to the police station.

I wondered if she would blame me. After all, my death was ruining the time she could be spending with Wendy.

Officer Zane held up a transparent evidence bag and handed it to her. “Moira, this was found by forensics. There’s a receipt inside the victim’s coat pocket.”

The receipt was stained heavily with blood. Mom lifted it under the light and examined it carefully. Slowly, she read out the store name, “Ethera Boutique…”

A wave of bitter grief surged up my throat. I had gone there to get Mom's birthday gift.

Just then, her phone rang. A gentle female voice came through. “Hello, may I ask if you know Ms. Kara Summers?”

Mom clicked her tongue and answered impatiently, “Yes. Has she caused trouble again?”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then, the voice hesitated. “She picked up the dress she ordered, but she left behind an accessory. We can’t reach her, and you're her listed emergency contact.”

Mom was confused and replied, “I’ll come by tomorrow. Can you give me the address…”

She wrote it down as she spoke.

Officer Zane’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Moira, that address matches the one on the receipt!”

Mom shrugged indifferently. “Probably just a popular shop. What is Kara even up to this time?”

However, Officer Zane shook his head. “You should call her. Check if she’s safe. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Mom frowned in annoyance. “Wesley, why are you so worried about her? Right now, identifying the victim is what matters most.”

She was so close to the truth yet still so far from me.

She was such an exceptional criminal psychologist. How could she so instinctively overlook the boutique? Perhaps it was because she had always hated everything connected to me.

On the back of the receipt, I had written the pickup date. Yet Mom could not recognize my handwriting.

Officer Zane asked her, “Can you infer the victim’s profile from the handwriting?”

Mom’s tone softened as she shifted into professional mode. “The victim likely has large eyes, a high nose bridge, and a slender build. Probably around 5'4". She comes from a good family. From the handwriting, she seems gentle and kind, yet emotionally suppressed. She lacks security and feels lonely.”

She paused for a moment. Was it because the reconstructed image of the victim looked like me?

She could analyze a victim's mind…

Yet, Mom had never once tried to understand what I was feeling.

It always felt like we were just a step away from each other. One step away from making things right, and one step away from her realizing the victim was me.

Officer Zane’s tone grew firmer. He was clearly dissatisfied with her attitude. “Moira, you fell seriously ill back then. Before you came back to work, Kara treated the entire task force to dinner just so they’d take care of you.”

Mom knitted her brows together in suspicion. “Wesley, don’t joke around. You don’t need to make things up just to speak well of Kara.”

“You keep saying she doesn’t care about you, but when you were hospitalized and unconscious last year, she was the one running herself to exhaustion, bringing you homemade meals every single day!” Officer Zane snapped in frustration.

A trace of self-mockery flickered in my eyes. All these years, everyone could see how much I cared about Mom. However, to her, I was nothing but cold and heartless.

Mom finally gave in under Officer Zane’s earnest persuasion.

Masking her irritation, she dialed my number. Still, all she got was the cold, mechanical voice repeating over and over that the phone was switched off.

Annoyance crossed her face as she muttered, “Not picking up my calls? Fine. It's better if you never contact me again. Honestly, I wish I had never had a daughter like you.”

Officer Zane brought Mom and the team to the boutique. A surge of excitement I could not suppress rose within me. The case was finally about to move forward!

As for Mom, I no longer expected her to react to my death at all.

The shop owner was an elegant middle-aged woman.

After hearing the police officers explain their purpose, she checked the records using the receipt.

“Oh, this one. That pretty girl ordered it. She said it was a birthday gift for her mother and even asked me to make sure the craftsmanship was extra fine.” The shop owner pulled up the surveillance footage. The video began to play.

Officer Zane stared at the screen in shock.

On it, I walked into the shop with a smile, chatting with the owner as we picked out styles for the dress.

The owner sighed. “You’re not here about that brutal murder case that’s been all over the news, are you? I remember this girl clearly. She was gentle and meticulous. She spent a long time choosing the perfect color for her mother. I can’t imagine how devastated her mom must be.”

Mom stood frozen, staring at the screen. The air seemed to freeze in place. The cicadas outside and the shop’s heavy silence blended into something eerily harmonious.

“Check again. How could it be her? Kara is probably off somewhere having fun!” Mom grabbed the shop owner’s hand.

The owner was startled for a moment and sounded a little aggrieved. “The order matches exactly. It’s the same piece and the same date. It’s actually the most expensive one in my store. Hardly anyone ever buys it.”

Mom’s breathing grew ragged. Veins bulged on the back of her hands. Her nails dug into her skin.

She kept muttering under her breath, “The head hasn’t been found yet. It can’t be Kara. People like her don’t die easily.”

Just then, Officer Zane’s phone rang. It was the medical examiner. The voice on the other end was urgent, almost sharp with tension. “Officer Zane, is Moira with you? The DNA results are back. The victim is her daughter—Kara Summers!”